


Layers, Dissolved

by decompository



Category: Finder no Hyouteki | Finder Series
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, M/M, Major Character Injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-02
Updated: 2017-02-13
Packaged: 2018-09-03 18:56:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8726362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/decompository/pseuds/decompository
Summary: The earth spins east, the Sun burns hydrogen and they are one.





	1. Chapter 1

When Akihito awakens, Asami is by his side within hours.

He had raced to his private jet, cancelled all business meetings until further notice and the entire flight home was filled with fidgety knees and nail picking. Asami was never like this, never _bothered_ like this, but it was eating away at him with each passing hour until his eyes hollowed in as he finished his fifth Dunhill cigarette.

When the plane landed Asami strode from the plane with determined force and nobody stopped him; they all knew.

Akihito is sitting quietly on his bed, alive and real and _breathing_ , when Asami wrenches the door open with his breath held. The sun bathes Akihito in gold, outlining his shimmering hair and skin that is much, much paler than Asami remembers. He looks ethereal surrounded by snow white sheets, staring intently out of the large ceiling to floor window of his room. He jolts at the sudden noise and turns around hastily.

They both stare at each other for the longest time, drinking each other in like thirsty men stranded in the desert. The tension is almost tangible and it is Akihito who breaks the silence first.

“Hey bigshot” he grins, as if he didn’t almost die, as if he hadn’t bled in Asami’s arms a week earlier.

Asami approaches him without a word, still intensely staring with molten, golden eyes and they look like the Sun; bright, dangerous but everything Akihito needs in his life. He sits carefully on the bed, eyes never leaving Akihito’s face.

Asami has always been quiet, but this is a different kind of quiet; the type to end questions and create confirmations that make Akihito’s heart stutter in his chest. He aches, but in a good way, and he wants to reach for Asami and kiss him roughly but his ribs hurt.

The man before him skims his eyes from Akihito’s dry, chapped lips down to his neck, collarbones and fingers resting on his lap. Asami reaches out cautiously and places his palm on top of Akihito’s wrist, runs his thumb across the rubbery skin and eyes the bracelet attached loosely.

“How do you feel?” he finally asks, eyes fixed on the connection between their skin. Akihito shifts his hand until their fingers touch, slowly entwine and he forces a smile on his lips. He does it for them, for Asami, because the bags under his eyes and the weariness in the corner of his lips suggest sleepless, stress-filled nights and heavy smoking.

“Good” Akihito answers softly and runs his eyes over Asami’s form, refreshing his memory of the man he took bullets for. “A bit sore but that’s nothing unusual”

It is a small attempt at a joke but Asami does not laugh, instead he sweeps his eyes to Akihito and something bursts inside of him. An ocean of longing, relief and desire to be with Asami fills him again. It has been too long, too close to permanent separation than they both liked.

“I thought” Asami stops, inhales tiredly and continues, “I thought I’d never see you again”

At that Akihito’s soft smile dissolves into a subtle, concerned face lined with the same worries and anxiety as his partner. They both know the feeling, and it is one they never want to experience again. Akihito can’t imagine that; Asami without him, him without Asami. It just wasn’t natural; the earth spins east, the Sun burns hydrogen and they are one.

“I couldn’t protect you”

Asami is a crime lord, King of Asia’s Underworld with an empire compressed under the stretch of his palm; he can override international political decisions, sway countless politicians and national economic stances but he couldn’t deflect pieces of metal away from the one person who only matters.

He had failed miserably and it almost cost him his life (dressed in an oversized hospital gown, with caring eyes and the brightest soul he’s ever encountered).

“You did your best” Akihito reassures him as his other hand cups the side of Asami’s neck. He leans forward until their noses brush, until he sees the way Asami’s eyebrows twitch under his forgiving gaze. But it’s always been like that; Akihito strips away Asami’s layers over and over and Asami _lets_ him.

Tonight he bares all. 

“You did your best, and that’s all that matters”

“You almost _died—“_

“I was happy” the young man confesses. “Right then, right there, if I had really died I would’ve been happy” It shuts the older man up.

“I was lying there and all I could think about was making sure that you _knew_ it wasn’t your fault, because that’s what you do Asami Ryuichi; you take too much responsibility but not enough credit. I _knew_ you would blame yourself and you did. Tell me, how many days has it been since you slept? Since you ate a proper meal?” Akihito questions him because he has the power to, because no other man can dissect Asami as well as he does. 

He sees the way his partner contracts from his questions, already coiling away but Akihito never relinquishes his hold. He wants them close, misses the feeling of Asami in his personal space that is defined by the dispersion of his breath. Silence fills the room.

“Three days” Asami answers him, guilt thick in his tone but it never shows on his face. “And I ate this morning”

Akihito sighs. “Smoking doesn’t count”

Asami smirks, the first one Akihito has seen in a week and it steals his breath away like the first time they saw each other. Asami has always looked good grinning.

“I meant what I said, you know” Akihito mumbles, tilting his head to clink their foreheads together. “All of it, I wanted you to remember” He nuzzles the bridge of Asami’s nose, intimate and offering.

“Remember that I love you”  

He twists his head and kisses the other, a simple press of the lips and it revitalises him more than any medicine could. 

“More than you could ever imagine”

The dull ache in his chest and stomach all disappear when Asami kisses back, his large hands sneaking around to cup the base of Akihito’s skull. Even exhausted he exudes masculinity almost like a scent and it sends sparks down Akihito’s spine.

When they break away the younger man notices the wetness on his cheeks but they don’t belong to him. He stares at Asami, at his pinched expression and the moisture clumping his lashes together.

He’s never seen Asami so raw, _nobody_ has ever seen Asami like this. It is so— _UnAsami,_ borderline paranormal and it throws Akihito completely off.  

“Why are you crying?” Akihito whispers tenderly, cradling Asami’s jaw in his hands as he laughs softly, hiding behind his own brokenness. He pulls the man close, closer than he’s ever been and kisses his forehead, hair, smooths out the tear tracks on his face. They have never been peaceful, but here in this sterile hospital room Akihito holds Asami like _he’s_ the broken one.

“I’m here, I’m here, I’m here” he reminds Asami against his ear before trailing his lips to his temple, resting there as Asami breathes into his shoulder. They remain like that, Asami tucked in the sharp crook of Akihito’s arms with a vulnerability so palpable he almost becomes translucent.

“I’m here baby, I’m here”

When Asami presses his face against his neck and kisses his jugular Akihito knows that he is not the only one.

Asami does not sob, he does not weep, but he sheds his tears the way he loves Akihito; silently and whole heartedly.


	2. Prequel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i've chosen to only write a prequel bc i felt i would ruin the sequel lmao but sorry i took so long, i was focusing on another AUs ((((cat Asami)))). thanks for reading, i hope you enjoy and kudos and comments are greatly appreciated!!!

Asami had always mused at how easily bruised Akihito was; he’d curl his large palm around the man’s thigh and squeeze gently, marvelling quietly in the way his hand sunk into the soft, unblemished flesh.

“Look after yourself” He’d comment with a tone of false indifference, his concern and affection hidden deep beneath the veneer of calm and collection.

“Stop worrying” Akihito would reply, frowning as he smoothed away the lines between Asami’s forehead, all knowing and powerful. “You’ll get wrinkles old man”

But that was back then, a long time ago, what felt like light years and eons ago in some unknown fantasy hidden from the grueling reality that dawned upon them now.

It had happened too quickly to prevent.

The moment Akihito saw the shiny, black gun reflect under the dim fluorescent lights of the abandoned warehouse he had lost consciousness; instincts kicking in, primal urge to _protect_ and _keep safe_ fuelled the burst of energy that exploded inside Akihito.

He threw his camera aside violently, damage forgotten, and ran past the unsuspecting guards towards the one person who really mattered, would always matter. Akihito hadn’t thought of the consequences, he’s never been a thinker anyway, so when his body collided with Asami’s and threw the other man backwards the reality dawned on him like a crack of thunder.

The bullets ripped through him relentlessly, merciless as he fell to his side in a pain so excruciating he momentarily saw white. And as quickly as it came his burning stomach and chest ebbed away to a dull ache that unsettled him as much as it calmed him.

He could see his fate paint the concrete ground, felt it soak his jeans and jumper. Akihito exhaled shakily, fingers trembling as he clutched his wounds. The world shifted around him, black blurred into grey and shouting became distant like the stars he couldn’t capture with his camera. Akihito couldn’t move, his limbs suddenly stone and his lungs refused to function.

He was dying, Akihito realised.

Dying felt different; like floating on top of clouds of cotton, seeing the white dyed pink then red; like slowly sinking to the bottom of the ocean with clear, clear water.

It drained him of everything he had.

Asami rose from his knees, feeling the pain in his shoulder and chin from the fall but when he spotted a familiar lump on the ground his world stopped, everything froze. In the background he heard gunshots and Kirishima’s shouts for him to get away but it didn’t matter; nothing was more important than this.

He lunged, grabbed Akihito’s limp body and carried him to a dark corner he’d already noticed at the beginning of the meeting. Asami felt panic rise in him for the first time in years and he bent down low, holding his partner close to his chest. He bundled up Akihito’s jumper to reveal four, deep wounds and the squelch of blood turned the panic into bile.

There was too much blood. They were losing time. He was losing Akihito.

“Fuck” Asami cursed, shedding his jacket and wrapping it tightly around Akihito’s abdomen. Akihito stared at him with tired eyes and they shone in the darkness, reflecting a sadness he never knew was possible. “Fuck, fuck, _FUCK”_ Asami pressed his hands onto the wounds, tried to run through every method he’s ever learnt on how to save a goddamn life. Acid flooded his mouth at the prospect of failure and Asami pushed the idea away from his head.

He almost laughed hysterically; he’d spent fifteen years being a pessimist and all it took was fifteen months and one person to change everything.

They’ve come too far to end like this, stuck in a dingy, old warehouse under harsh yellow lights that contorted Akihito’s face in uncharacteristic angles and shapes. He deserved better.

“Stay with me” Asami urged imperatively, tying the jacket around Akihito’s stomach. “C’mon, look at me, look at me, keep breathing”

Asami cursed endlessly, veins popping from his neck as he pressed and pressed and--

A soft hand caressed his cheek, gentle and understanding.

When Asami saw the hopeless look in Akihito’s eyes something inside of him died.

"Are you okay?" Akihito asked, ghostly pale and dried blood cracked in the corner of his mouth. Asami wanted to  _scream_ , even while dying this man, this  _boy_ couldn't think of himself. He bit his tongue and cradled Akihito's head in the crook of his arm. 

"Yes you  _fool"_ he replied, desperate. "Why did you do that? Why _me?_ "

“It’s not your fault” Akihito spluttered, blood dribbling from his pale lips. He looked exhausted, barely clinging onto the threads of life. But he had to; his fate was sealed the moment he jumped from the roof and grabbed Asami’s heart and took it with him. To the ends of the abyss, he had promised, and Asami was determined to keep the end from becoming _now_.

“Not your fault” he continued to mumble, cupping the side of Asami’s face, smearing crimson and love onto the cheeks he kissed that morning.

A frustrated cry ripped out of Asami’s throat as he watched the puddle of red expand, dripped from his fingers. The air smelt of iron, rippling from gunshots and his own ragged breaths. The world was slipping from his fingers and Asami couldn’t stop it, completely powerless.

Akihito’s mouthed twitched open but he croaked at the pain. Asami watched him, heart breaking slowly. He bent down to listen.

“Love you” Akihito whispered into his chest as his head lolled to the side, the hand on Asami’s face losing strength but Asami secured it at his cheek with his own, trying to preserve whatever tender moment they could share together.

“Love...you” he continued to whisper and it broke Asami more than any iron bat could. Barbed wire curled deep in his chest, ripping at him with unadulterated and merciless ferocity.

Asami bent down and kissed Akihito’s forehead, relishing in the warmth that he was bound to lose. His hand tightened around Akihito’s.

“Sshh don’t talk we’re gonna get you help, help is coming--”

“Love you”

“Akihito _don’t_ _you dare,_ don’t don’t don’t _please--_ ”

“I…”

Silence.

All encompassing, all ending and all powerful; it loomed over them like a cloak. It spoke of unsaid truths and misunderstood touches, of lost love and silent goodbyes that would be unretrievable. It spoke of Asami’s greatest loss. All he could hear was his heart.

Asami trembled against Akihito, unaware of Kirishima and his men rushing forward with medical kits. His shoulders shook, his lips bitten raw, his soul gone.

A long time ago Asami had mused at how easily bruised Akihito was but now he realised what bruised meant; bruised was defiance and strength and healing. It was falling down and getting up and doing it again. It was Akihito’s own version of a “fuck you” and a promise of adventure. It was a grin he saw every night, a vow to stay.

But Akihito wasn’t healing; he was silent.

Asami leaned down and kissed his forehead again, held it there, quietly shaking as the sun rose to bathe them in dull orange.


	3. Sequel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry it took so long! I wrote 3k words of drama and angst but I decided against it because it just didn't feel right. I'm also a perfectionist so I took weeks editing and rewriting it. But here it is!! 
> 
> I hope you enjoy. Comments and kudos are greatly appreciated <3

As he grew older, Akihito understands that time, like any other resource, is valuable. Not in a quantifiable, materialistic sense, but a deeply personal way that, more than often, becomes the root of Akihito’s confusion. 

Time is valuable when Akihito is five and he waved goodbye to his grandfather for the last time. It is vital when he graduated high school and found his first job and even more so, once he started university. When he finds Asami and Asami finds him, time is inescapable, already a vital part of him, but even then, Akihito does not understand. 

By the time Akihito is lying in Asami’s arms in the abandoned warehouse, time has become a fortune that no amount of resources, earthly or extraterrestrial, could buy. It dictated the flow of his blood and the anguish in Asami’s eyes and finally, the relief that weighed heavily on both of their shoulders. 

And time, like any other resource, is nuanced. 

Two months is a short time, and yet it has never felt so long. Akihito learns more in two months than the last fifteen months combined. It unsettles him like cold water dripping onto his neck. It is sufficient time for his wounds to heal into silvery scars that, when Akihito took late night baths, would remind him of his own recklessness. But it is nowhere near enough for Akihito to understand what happened between  _ them _ after everything went back to normal. 

Here’s what he discovers:

Asami feels something for him. Albeit it was always left unsaid and unacknowledged, but the way he clutches onto Akihito during the late hours of the night speaks volumes. When he murmurs in his sleep and face contorts furiously in the dark, Akihito will whisper to him, press gentle kisses onto his jaw and tell him, “I’m here”. And it is enough. 

They were evolving in ways Akihito could never place his finger on, but like spring, it was welcomed like an old friend. Their bodies meld together in an understanding that has surpassed the need for words and confirmation. The touch of their skins are enough to speak the thousand thoughts bombarding their consciousness and what is peculiar to others is normal to them.

But here is what he doesn’t understand:

Akihito is unhappy. Despite the inundation of love and the promise of a quick, steady recovery, Akihito is left with a dry, bitter taste in his mouth when he kisses Asami goodnight and his partner grunts in response. He feels parts of himself wither as he watches Asami hunch over paper and laptops and glasses of scotch late into the night. The lack of words and understanding wriggles under Akihito’s skin like a taunting parasite, and the worst part is: 

He doesn’t know how to change it.

  
  
  
  


Dinner is fancy Italian pasta handmade by an upscale restaurant Akihito doesn’t want to remember. If he can’t pronounce it, it isn’t worth his time. It is creamy and delicious but not appealing enough for Akihito to abandon his thoughts and enjoy his meal. He pushes the noodle around with his fork, pondering awkwardly. Opposite of him Asami does the same, food left untouched as he types countless emails on his Ipad and crosses things off his list.

(Discovery number 3: Asami is a diary person).

“Your pasta’s getting cold.” Asami comments offhandedly as he sends his fifth email. Although he doesn’t look up, Akihito can feel the disapproval. “I thought you were hungry”

Akihito shrugs, twirling the pasta around his fork.

He glances up at Asami once, twice, and presses his lips tighter. There are things he wants to ask but Asami always seems exhausted these days; as if conversation isn’t an option.

After being released from the hospital things had resumed back to normal (well, their kind of normal), and normal was a cold indifference that set like concrete on Asami’s face that only ever broke when they were in bed. Normal tasted like acid in Akihito’s mouth but who could blame him for wanting answers?

He could still vividly remember the strength of Asami’s clutch in the warehouse, begging him to look at him, and he had etched the feeling of Asami’s tears smeared on his neck into memory. Late at night, silently and secretly, Akihito would stare at Asami’s face and try to reimagine the scenario; the man red-nosed, eyes rimmed with grief, mouth set in a regretful line that held so much  _ pain. _

But he couldn’t.

Akihito shifts legs, his right dangling from the chair while he rests his chin on his left knee, playing with his food.

“Throw it out if you won’t eat it” Grumbles Asami.

“You should eat too.” Akihito replies, agitated, because at least he’s had parts of his dinner and had the decency to  _ try _ . Asami stops scrolling and flickers his eyes to Akihito’s briskly. Akihito almost shivers at the intensity of his indecipherable stare. Always, always indecipherable.

“I’m not hungry anymore.” Akihito announces and pushes backwards, the chair scraping unpleasantly against the wooden floor. He clears the table and rinses the plates frustratingly before swiftly exiting the kitchen, into the lounge room. Being around Asami feels like walking on landmines covered in egg shells; there’s no room to breathe anymore. 

Akihito distracts himself with a nameless TV show for the better part of an hour before Asami sinks down next to him, an arm’s length away. He is still typing on his iPad and this time, Asami has a glass of scotch nestled in his other hand. Alarms begin to ring in Akihito’s head. 

Without peering up, Asami deadpans, “Something’s wrong. What is it?”

Akihito doesn’t answer, instead he pretends to watch the TV, but Asami knows better. The man lifts his head and fixes a long glare, the one parents use when their children misbehave. 

“Nothing.” Akihito replies stubbornly. They’re good at this game, they’ve been playing since day one.

Asami’s eyes squints and he sips his scotch, fixing his attention back to his Ipad. The sound of his typing begins to gnaw on Akihito’s nerves. “You know I hate it when you lie to me.”

“And you know I hate it when you demand shit from me.” Akihito seethes through gritted teeth, feigning calmness but the storm inside of him threatens to burst. As much as he hates normalities and routines he hates  _ nothingness _ even more; this never ending pit they’ve been thrown into, this whirlpool of unsaid words and misunderstandings has been eating at him. 

Asami runs a hand down his face, hair straying into a disarrayed mess.

“I’m not demanding.” His exhaustion is barely contained and it shows in the lax way he holds his cup. 

Akihito switches the channel, faking nonchalance, but he feels his heart stutter. 

“You know I hate it when you lie to me.” He parrots because he is angry and petty, pent up from weeks of deprivation. It’s almost like Asami is never there, nothing more than an apparition Akihito kisses in the morning and night.

Asami suddenly cups his face and forces them to make eye contact, and he is  _ livid. _

“Stop being childish and  _ tell me _ what’s wrong. You’re being a brat.”

Akihito scoffs and tears himself away despite the temptation to hold Asami’s hands, to feel them on him again. 

“ _ I’m _ being childish?” he scoots back, putting more distance between them. “That’s funny, because the last three times I’ve tried to speak to you about this you’ve  _ avoided _ me like the fucking plague.”

Asami squints his eyes accusingly and leans on a large fist balled between them. There’s a deep, foreboding crease between his brows that reminds Akihito of a thunderbolt. 

“So there  _ is _ something wrong. What do you want to speak about?” 

Akihito’s mouth is dry and his heart pounds frantically in his chest. Weeks of internalised anger dissolve on his tongue unexpectedly, leaving him empty. 

“Are you asking because you genuinely want to know or do you want it over and done with?” he murmurs with a heavy tongue. 

Asami’s face twists, baffled. 

“Of course I want to know but I  _ don’t  _ because you refuse to stop playing your fussy little games.” Asami turns away to press his palm against his eye sockets, digging in deep until it begins to hurt. He feels a headache wriggling in through his temples. 

“Fine” Akihito spits. “Fine, I’ll tell you.” 

He curls his fists into tight balls and lets his nails dig into his skin. The pain distracts him, keeps him grounded. 

“This is the longest conversation we’ve had in a week.” Akihito whispers brokenly, face crumbling.

“You come home at an ungodly hour and then you’re off again in the morning. You’ve stopped looking at me,  _ really _ looking at me, and when you do it’s so cold. You barely touch me and when I try to touch  _ you _ you just…move away. It’s like you don’t want to be here anymore.” Akihito shrinks into the cushions and stares off to the left, unable to look in Asami’s vicinity. His vision blurs and he wipes his eyes defiantly.

“It’s like you don’t want me anymore.” he mumbles and parts of him hopes to the highest levels of heaven that Asami doesn’t hear it.

But he does, because Asami is all knowing and a deity amongst men and he knows  _ everything _ about  _ everyone _ and--

“That’s ridiculous.” Asami exclaims offhandedly and Akihito breaks because he’s being dismissed again, for the countless time, being pushed away and thrown into the dusty, back corner where Akihito guesses every other boy toy Asami’s ever had goes. 

Akihito throws the pillow off himself and gets ready to leave when Asami places a hand on his knee. 

“You’re the  _ only _ person I want.” Asami vehemently confesses like it’s the only truth he knows. 

From this angle the extent of Asami’s exhaustion becomes heartbreakingly clear; his eyes are sunken in by deep, purple bags and his complexion is pale, constant stress compressing wrinkles around his eyes and mouth that adds years to his appearance. 

Akihito follows his instincts, a primal reaction inside of him he’s long associated with Asami and when he reaches out he isn’t sure if it’s to soothe himself or Asami.

Akihito brushes his thumb against the bags, uncertain, but he can feel the tight corners of Asami’s mouth. 

“Then why don’t you talk to me anymore?” he urges, pride forgotten. “Speak to me.”

Asami smiles crookedly, bemused and sarcastic. “Trust me, you don’t want to know.”

“I do.” Akihito sits closer, still cupping his partner’s face. If Asami won’t open up, he will. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”

(Discovery number 4: Asami is a chrysanthemum; he unfurls under the right kind of warmth).

“Speak to me, Ryu. I’m not afraid.” 

They stare intensely at each other for half a minute before Asami breaks the silence.

“I’ve killed a lot of people this week.” When he starts, he doesn’t stop. “And I’ll kill again next week, and the week after that, again and again, until everything is gone.” 

Akihito blinks sadly at him, listening patiently. “Why?” he whispers. “It’s okay now, we’re back home.” 

The answer isn’t immediate but it is genuine. 

“To protect what’s mine.” 

Akihito eyebrows furrow together. “You’re driving yourself mad.”

“It’s worth it,” Asami justifies quickly. “It’ll always be worth it.”

His eyes travel from Akihito’s gaze to his lips and they settle on his chest, on the silvery scars beneath the shirt he knows far too well. Asami wishes he could erase it by glaring hard enough. 

“What’s worth it?” His partner asks, so genuinely concerned it hurts Asami more than any knife could. 

“This.” Asami affirms.

Suddenly Akihito is reminded of the hospital room; Asami train wrecked and collapsing into his shoulder and his hot, raw tears. His chest aches severely, an overwhelming need to comfort driving him to take Asami’s large hands and press it against his chest, right above his beating heart. Akihito squeezes his fingers.

“I’m here. I told you before and I’ll say it again. I’m here, I’m okay.”

“Not that night you weren’t.” Asami grunts, displeased at the memory that makes his stomach churn with hatred and helplessness. “Humans bleed so quickly.” And in this moment Akihito sees everything with perfect clarity; the anxiety, the insecurities and hatred buried so deeply beneath a veneer of pride it almost blends in. He lets Asami have this.

“Promise me,” Asami says and it doesn’t sound like a request. “Promise me you’ll never do that again.”

There is a fire blazing in his eyes that belies his stone, impassive face as if he were possessed by another soul. Akihito frowns, reminded of how much things  _ haven’t _ changed. He can feel Asami’s thumbs press into his breast bone, their eyes levelling together. It almost feels like they’re equals, but ‘almost’ is not good enough.

He pries Asami’s fingers away.

“No.” he demands assertively. “No.”

Asami’s face twists in frustration but before he can retaliate Akihito grabs his face, bringing their faces closer, electrifying their souls.

“If  _ I  _ was the one in front of the gun would you stay put?” Asami’s frown deepens and Akihito shuffles closer. “If  _ I _ were the one in danger would you not have done the same?”

“It’s different.” Asami hisses.

“How?” His partner retorts, aggressive and serious enough to make the air thick with tension.

When Asami’s eyes flicker away and his mouth presses into a firm line Akihito feels his anger dissolve into a deep, gut wrenching revelation. Perhaps it is from Akihito’s fears and insecurities that have prevented this conversation, or maybe Asami is just too tired to do it at all.

Maybe Akihito was the only one. Maybe Asami had cried for something else, had saved him for something else. Maybe he was never looking at Akihito in the first place but at what Akihito could provide; a warm body, sexual satisfaction, a pet to dust the house and make dinner and decorate his bed.

His fear intensifies his need for an answer. Photojournalism has imprinted on his life in more ways than he thinks; curiosity runs deep in his blood, even in the face of danger. Even with the prospect of a downfall.

“No, don’t you dare avoid the question. I need answers, Asami. I need them now.”

Akihito is strong, so strong, but his fingers are shaking.

Asami makes eye contact again and exhales. He deflates like a balloon, dropping onto his knees in front of Akihito and bumps his forehead against Akihito’s stomach. His hands slip under the other’s shirt to feel the smooth scars on his abdomen. His breath hitches.

“You,” he begins, “you could have whatever you want.”

Akihito tilts his head in confusion. What does he mean?

“You don’t have financial or political power but you have something different, something better.” Asami lifts his head and gazes into Akihito’s eyes, seeking redemption. He is fearless but so frightened, strong but so open and vulnerable Akihito could dip his hands into the man’s ribs and take whatever he want.

“You have compassion. You have sympathy. You ask for nothing in return and you love so freely. You can love and you  _ do _ love.”

His palms are warm and calloused against Akihito’s skin and his nerves tingle, weeks without Asami’s touch making him sensitive.

“In my world words mean nothing.” Asami continues, “a person could swear loyalty to you and lodge a bullet into your head the next day. I lose sleep at night thinking about the ways people can hurt me, can take what is mine away.”

Asami leans forward while his hands travel upwards, lifting Akihito’s shirt. The cold air tingles his stomach and Asami’s deep words make his toes curl. 

“And that’s why I can’t have everything; because to have everything means anything can kill me. And I can’t risk that.”

His hands pause at Akihito’s clavicles, feeling the bone beneath his fingertips. Asami’s eyes dart between Akihito’s mouth and eyes, unsure of where to settle. They are breathing in tandem, inhaling each other’s exhales and winding together tightly.

“Which is why I can’t lose you. Because you can go out there and find someone else to love because you  _ can _ love. Because you’re capable of that. But me? I can’t do that.”

Asami laughs once, low and self deprecating and Akihito feels it against his throat “I’m still trying to figure out why you haven’t left.”

He kisses Akihito’s neck, tongue darting out to taste the skin and the warm, wet feeling makes Akihito’s heart flutter. His hands travel from Asami’s jaw to his shoulders uncertainly, feeling the tight muscles beneath, clutching onto the moment like a madman.

“You’re too important to me, Aki” Asami presses another tender kiss. “I can’t lose you”

Akihito gapes down at him, flabbergasted. They remain quiet, listening to each other breathe. 

“Ryuichi.” he whispers adoringly, finally comprehending. He slips his palms under Asami’s jaw so they face each other. He kisses his partner, his love, his fucking  _ other half _ with an intensity so deep he’s sure his lips will bruise. It isn’t wet or sloppy, just a press of their mouths that’s enough to fill the hole inside both of them. 

It is a hunger and need for connection that makes him pull Asami up and against him, pressing their chests together, still kissing. They shift until Akihito is lying on the couch, trapped beneath Asami’s weight. It feels good, feels right, like they were born to be next to each other.

As they make eye contact Asami sees Akihito’s eyes twinkle and it is the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

“You’re so stupid.’ he says. “You are utterly, completely  _ dense. _ ”

He kisses Asami repeatedly, each a promise, a reassurance.

“You are so important.” Akihito injects between kisses. “So, fucking, important. I can’t believe you would think that. You’re so dense I’m gonna remember this for  _ life. _ ”

Akihito makes a noise that simultaneously sounds like a cry and laugh before he manhandles Asami until he’s on top, knees on either side of his body. 

“I can’t promise I’ll never do it again. Not until the day I start eating onions raw. Don’t  _ look at me _ like that! I know you would do the same too.” His fingers massage over Asami’s face, smoothing out the lines on his forehead. It’s become a habit, almost like a ritual. Asami’s hands splay against the soft flesh of Akihito’s thighs, remembering how tender he is, how easily bruised.

“We’ll both take care of each other.” Akihito vows, dipping down to kiss Asami with a sliver of tongue. “We’ll look after each other.”

And then Asami remembers what being bruised means: resilience, strength and healing.

They share what seem to be a dozen kisses merged into one before Asami pushes Akihito back slightly, mumbling against his lips.

“We still have lots to talk about.” he never takes his eyes off his love, off the way his lips shine from saliva that’s most definitely Asami’s.

Akihito nods and he sounds mature beyond his age. “I know.”

He begins to unbutton Asami’s shirt gently and slowly, re-exploring with his palms. He’s desperate to have Asami on and in him again in more ways than physical. Akihito bends down and presses one, two kisses against his chest.

“I’m not easy to love.” Asami speaks. 

“I know.”

“You can’t do normal things with me.”

Asami tangles his fingers in Akihito’s soft hair, marveling at his luck. Akihito hums and presses his lips to the other’s palm, nuzzling his hand.

“I know.”

He can feel Akihito’s soft breaths on his wrist and Asami malfunctions when Akihito smiles down with unguarded affection. 

“You’ll be hurt. A lot.” 

“Doesn’t matter. You know I’m stronger than that.” 

Akihito is right. He’s titanium and iron infused and always constant; an anchor Asami never knew he needed in his life. Perhaps this is a work of fate or maybe Asami is a lucky man but all he knows is that the young man sitting in his lap is worth the entire world and more. 

Asami has never loved anyone more in his life. 

He simply stares back, admiring with an open, honest expression. 

“Now, let me show you.” Akihito announces almost too eagerly, sitting back to yank off his shirt and Asami watches intently, licking his lips. He rakes his eyes over the goosebumps sprinkled on Akihito’s smooth chest and abdomen from the cold, autumn air that wafts through the open balcony doors. A tender warmth coagulates and pulls in his stomach, reeling Asami in further and further. 

“Show me what?” He teases, thumbing the softness of Akihito’s hips.

Akihito laces their fingers and when they kiss it is full of promise. He looms over Asami, holding his partner’s arms high above his head, glowing when the wind sweeps his hair out of his face.

This is a language they both understand.

“Why I stay.” Akihito laughs and they sink home.

 

**Author's Note:**

> i tried to make Asami as in character as possible but...hopefully it worked haha hope you enjoyed!!!


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